Lights, Action
by bearsbeetsbattlestargalactica
Summary: When sixteen-year-old Annabeth Chase splits town to find herself on the front doorstep of her best friend's apartment in L.A., she doesn't know the half of what she's getting into. Hollywood is not only seductive but dangerous, and as Annabeth is sucked into a whirlwind of parties and starlets, her path becomes more complicated and treacherous than ever. Hollywood AU.
1. Chapter 1: Norma Shearer

**A/N: This is a new story that I may/may not continue, just depending on the reception and whether or not people want me to. If you want more of this story, just review or PM or whatever. Anyway, let me know what you think!**

 **Rating: T**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

* * *

Chapter 1

 _An adventure may be worn as a muddy spot, or it may be worn as a proud insignia. It is the woman wearing it that makes it the one thing or the other._

-Norma Shearer

* * *

THALIA DIDN'T SEEM angry, which surprised me.

She stood framed in the doorway, kohl outlining her lightning-bright eyes, lips shaded mauve, a dark rosary dangling from her neck. It glittered on her collarbone. She looked different: slimmer, hipper, more aloof. Her dark hair was pinned up high on her head with a pair of chopsticks.

"Annabeth," she said, and smiled. "Long time no see, bitch."

I hugged my arms to my chest. It was summer in Southern California, where the sun shone bright and hot, but it seemed suddenly much, much colder. "I…" I hesitated. "I didn't… I didn't have anywhere else to go."

Thalia shrugged. "I figured." She cracked open her door, jerked her thumb over her shoulder to show me inside. "Come on in."

* * *

IF ANYONE WAS an expert at skipping town, it was Thalia. She had run away seven times throughout the course of her life, the first when she was only nine years old. Thalia didn't put up with anything less than what she thought she deserved. I envied that.

Her mother was a would-be film actress from the 1980s, a woman whose career had come to a screeching halt when Thalia, the product of an illicit affair, had been conceived. She'd moved from the Hollywood hills to Santa Barbara when she got a job as a weathergirl, and never really forgave her daughter for her own mistake.

It was a household of drugs, drinking, and misery. Thalia ran off so many times that her mother stopped phoning the police to tell them her daughter was missing. Eventually, when the streets became cold and her stomach began to gnaw, Thalia returned home, and her mother didn't say a word.

About two years after Thalia's brother was born (the product of a rekindling of the affair that had created Thalia in the first place), her mother was found passed out in the street, drunk and O.D.'d on so many drugs that it would make a lengthy shopping list. She and her brother were tossed into the foster system without so much as a consolation wave goodbye. And that was how, some years later, miles north in San Francisco, I first met Thalia.

Unlikely friends didn't begin to cover it. She was dark, gory, a senior in high school while I was a freshman. She swore like it was her job and smoked clove cigarettes in the parking lot during lunch. She was the kind of girl that had t-shirts that read _Death to Barbie_ or _Eat it, Whore_ (much to the chagrin of the high school administration). Her favorite book was _Helter Skelter,_ the in-depth true crime book on the Manson murders, and she listened to Iron Maiden.

She was a cold, hard, kickass bitch. I should've squeaked and run away in fright.

But I didn't, for whatever reason. And that was how, two years after she graduated, I ended up on her front doorstep in L.A.

* * *

THALIA'S APARTMENT WAS small and empty; echoey. It consisted of a futon, a kitchenette, a bedroom to the right, and a bathroom to the left. The furniture looked as if it had been plucked from thrift stores, worn and beaten-down. Posters cluttered the walls. There was one of Sharon Tate in particular that I couldn't stop staring at.

"So," Thalia said, walking into her kitchen and opening the fridge. She pulled out a bottle of water and took a swig, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "What gives, nerd?"

I picked at a stray thread on my sleeve. "I got fed up."

"Okay," she said. The thing about Thalia that I loved the most was her lack of judgment. She took whatever you'd done, no matter how bad, in stride. "What was the breaking point?"

I shook my head. "I don't…" The words sounded clumsy, awkward, in my mouth. "I don't really want to talk about it."

Thalia arched an eyebrow. "Normally, I'd let it slide, but if you're gonna crash on my couch, I'd like to know if I should expect a couple of cops on my doorstep."

"No cops, I promise," I said. "Nobody's looking for me."

"I doubt that." Thalia walked a few paces over to a mirror and fluffed her hair. She looked lovely, I realized, more sure of herself and less abrasive. Her skin was pale as ivory, her cornflower-eyes intense, but despite the new bones sticking out like needles from an acupuncture patient, she had softened somehow. She looked happy.

"It's true," I said. "No one will come looking for me after this. I promise." I took a deep, shuddering breath. "I won't stay long, I swear. I just need… I need a little while."

She turned around with her eyes narrowed. "You look like shit."

That was another thing about Thalia. She was blunt; called it like it was. She was right, too. In the mirror over her shoulder, I could see my face reflected back at me. I looked haggard, lips thin, hair scraggly and damp with grease.

"I know," I replied, because I did.

She sighed, tapping her index and middle fingers against her lips. "You have a week."

I blinked, startled. "A week?"

"Not to stay here," she said. "You know that you're welcome here anytime. I'll be glad to have the company, and my biotch roommates can kiss my ass, far as I'm concerned."

"A week until what, then?"

"Until you have to fess up to whatever made you run for the hills," she said. "It's not healthy to keep that kind of shit bottled up inside. Sooner or later it'll come out in the worst way possible."

Our eyes met, and a kind of mutual understanding passed between us.

Thalia's eyes flicked to analog clock mounted on her wall, and she swore. "Fuck. I need to be at the set in an hour."

"The set?"

She nodded, grabbing her purse from the kitchen counter and slinging it over the shoulder. "I got a job as a writer for this new crime show that's debuting. It's a dime-a-dozen, probably won't last; but it's a good foothold, and it pays well."

"Thalia," I said. "That's great."

"Thanks." She smiled, pulling a tube of lipstick out of her purse. She walked over to the mirror and began reapplying, talking while she did so. "You can hang out here for the meantime, though. Take a shower, because you smell like manure."

"Gee."

"Don't get offended. I'm sure you've been taking trains and Greyhounds for hours." She smacked her lips together and shoved the lipstick back into her purse. "And, Annabeth…"

"Yeah?"

She walked over and gave me a hug. Thalia smelled nice, too, like freshly-mown grass. It was a burnt, sort of tangy smell, but in a pleasant way. "Hang in there, okay? It's never as bad as it seems. Get some sleep. Everything feels better after a nap."

"Or worse."

"Nah. That's a myth." She dimpled and pulled back. "I shouldn't be long. I'll be back at eight to check in on you. My roommates-their names are Zoë and Phoebe-are out of town, but if they ask questions, tell them to call me."

"I don't want you to have to worry about me."

"Oh, please. It's a nice change of pace. Once upon a time, you were the one worrying about me." She grinned and opened the door. "See you."

"Thalia, wait," I said, and she stopped.

"Yeah?"

I swallowed. "Thank you."

She just smirked. "Anytime, bitch."

And then I was alone, and the whirlwind known as Thalia Grace was gone.

* * *

I WAS NOT the kind of girl that ran away. I was level-headed most of the time, even if I was stubborn. I didn't do rash things like head down to the train station and get a ticket to L.A. It wasn't me.

Dad like to say I had my eye on the prize. "That's my girl," he'd say proudly, but he wasn't proud of me so much as my row of As on my report card and my squeaky-clean record.

But that day, that morning, as I stood in front of the train station, I had felt less like my father and more like my mother. It was an unexpected change, but one that I welcomed all the same. And that was how my summer in Los Angeles began.

This is a story about a lot of things. It's a story about love. It's a story about family. It's a story about self-discovery. But most of all, this is a story about how sometimes, every once in awhile, you just have to take that leap and run.

* * *

 **A/N: I haven't decided if I'm going to continue this or not; I guess I'll gauge it on what you guys tell me. Thanks so much; let me know what you thought!**


	2. Chapter 2: Brigitte Bardot

**A/N: Hey, I'm back! I just want to say THANK YOU SO MUCH to all the reviewers. I'm definitely going to continue with the story, and I'll write new chapters as often as I can. Your feedback means the world to me, really. You're the best. :) I'm going to post a thank-you list at the end of this chapter. With any luck, it'll keep growing! ;)**

 **I hope you all like this next chapter! Thanks for reading!**

* * *

Chapter 2

 _Every age can be enchanting, provided you live within it._

-Brigitte Bardot

* * *

I TOOK A shower, because showers fixed everything.

Not _everything,_ I'd admit. But when I stepped out of the slightly-mildewed tub wrapped in a nubby towel, hair smelling of coconut-citrus, skin rubbery and clean, I felt worlds better than when I'd first gotten in and twisted the tap.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Bluish-purple smudges lurked beneath my eyes, but my hair was no longer stringy, and the flecks of mascara that had dotted my cheeks had washed away. I grabbed a bottle of Listerine from the counter and swished it around my mouth, spitting it out in the sink.

I'd come with a spare change of clothes or two stuffed away in my backpack, and I yanked on a pair of shorts and my father's old Harvard sweatshirt. I stifled a yawn and opened the bathroom door, dirty laundry tucked underneath my arm.

I came face-to-face with a small, thin, pixie-like girl.

She stared at me for a long time. If she thought I was an intruder, she wasn't afraid. She was beautiful in a badass kind of way, with skin like coffee with cream and a tough-as-nails look around her eyes. The girl was barefoot, every inch of her body bedecked with some kind of jewelry; arm cuffs and toe rings and piercings. Tattoos spiraled down her legs, her back, her ankles, her collarbone.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked.

I put my hands up, laundry dropping to the floor. "Thalia's friend. Who are you?"

She narrowed her eyes at me. "This is my apartment. Why should I answer any of your questions?"

Fair point, but I couldn't help but feel she was being unnecessarily rude.

"Look," I said. "I'm not going to hurt you or anything, I swear-"

The girl snorted. "I should think not. I know judo, jujitsu, karate, and krav maga. You wouldn't get within an inch of me."

Irritation bubbled up inside of me. "Thalia said that if you and the other girl got back early, you could call her on her cell and she'd explain the whole thing. She's at a set or something."

The girl reached into her back pocket and pulled out a phone, dialing a number and pressing it to her ear. She glared at me the whole time. After a few seconds, the line picked up. "Yeah, hi. Thalia, there's someone here claiming to know you-" Pause. "Are you shitting me?" The girl strode away, her tone low and angry, and I could hear Thalia shouting, though her words were indistinguishable. I couldn't make out what either of them were saying, but judging by the darkening look on the girl's face, I guessed it wasn't pretty.

Finally, she hung up, hurling the phone on the couch. She steamed for a minute, tapping her foot, her fists curling and uncurling.

"I'm sorry," I said lamely.

She flipped me off. "I'm leaving." She grabbed her purse off the counter, pulled open the door, and slammed it shut behind her.

There was a brief pocket of silence.

"You forgot your shoes!" I called after her.

There was no answer.

I sat down on the chair heavily, massaging my temples. She reminded me of Maeve.

* * *

AS PROMISED, THALIA came to check on me at around eight that night. She looked harried, and she smelled like men's cologne.

"How are you holding up?" she asked, flopping down onto the couch.

"Fine." I leaned against the doorjamb, hugging my arms to my chest. "I think your roommate is mad."

Thalia shook her head. "Zoë is a twat. Don't pay any attention to her."

"Branching out into British slang, are we?"

"Bugger off," Thalia said, and smiled. "Bloody hell."

I rolled my eyes. "Oi, with the dramatics." I glanced down at the coffee table and picked up a magazine, flipping through it disinterestedly. Airbrushed models too thin to be healthy, overpriced clothing for sale, a cosmetics ad, a photograph of the new Cadillac model. The adrenaline from this morning-the thrill of running away, finally saying _screw it all_ -hadn't yet left, and the words blurred together. I slapped it back down.

"You know what?" Thalia said suddenly, startling me. "You should come out with us tonight."

"I don't think so," I said. "I'm exhausted."

"Suck down a red bull, baby. This is LA."

"Thalia. No."

"Why not?" she said, shrugging. "It's not like a full-scale party or anything. I'm going out to a bar to meet a couple of friends."

I squinted at her. "What friends?"

"The kind you'd like," she said. "Luke's going to be there, and Jason, my brother. You probably remember him. He's doing really well in the film industry, you know."

I did. "I saw one of his movies a couple of months ago," I replied.

"He's really sweet-offered to get me a few high-profile jobs, but I'd like to work my way up the ladder myself."

"If such a thing is even possible."

"Hi, Cynic Cassie."

"Who else?" I asked.

"Oh, I don't know," she said, crossing her legs and leaning back. "Probably Leo-that's Jason's best friend. He's a special-effects whiz, one of the best in the business. Irritating as hell, though."

"Sounds like just the guy I want to hang out with."

"Oh!" Thalia said, snapping her fingers. "And Rachel."

"Rachel?"

"She's an artist-majorly cool chick. You'd like her. She goes to UCLA."

"Really."

"She's shown her stuff in a couple of galleries already," Thalia continued. "You should see it sometime. It's phenom."

"Phenom?"

"Short for phenomenal."

"So I gather."

"Stop judging me!"

"I didn't say anything."

"But your look speaks _volumes._ "

I raised my eyebrows. "Why do you want me to come out tonight, anyway? I'm underage. I can't even drink."

"Technically, neither can I," she said. "But the bouncer knows me. He'll let you in."

"Thalia. Answer the question."

She sighed. "I don't know why you're out here, Annabeth, and I don't know what drove you to pull this kind of shit."

I flinched, hearing it put so plainly.

"I'm not accusing you of anything," Thalia said quickly. "God knows you probably had a good reason. I just don't think you should sit here and stew all night. Marinating in that kind of crap isn't healthy."

I swallowed, staring at my hands. They were plain, average, slightly pale. "I don't have anything to wear."

"That we can fix," she said, and stood up. "C'mon."

* * *

AN HOUR LATER, I was stuck in the backseat of Thalia's old Ford Focus (reeking of cigarettes and sickly-sweet vanilla perfume), wearing a dress that was too short, heels that were too high, and jewelry that was far, far too gaudy.

"It's too much," I said for the millionth time.

"It's not," she said. This could also be because she was wearing an even more outrageous outfit, however; a shirt with a neckline cut to the waist, thick-heeled motorcycle boots that came up to mid-thigh, and a scrap of sequin that she claimed was a skirt. Her hair was down and loose, her makeup so startling that it was almost-but not quite-jarring.

 _I don't have the balls for this,_ I thought.

"It _is._ I should probably go back anyway."

"Annabeth, stop being such a chickenshit. You look _great._ "

My eyes flicked down to my ensemble. The dress was blue, ruffed, low-cut at the bodice and high-cut at the thigh. The wedges approached five inches, the jewelry was fake and rhinestone-studded. _What the hell am I doing?_

"Anyway," Thalia said as she took a left, "we're here."

It was a dive bar. The flickering neon sign read JUPITER, but this was something I noticed later. So much about it was overstated: the dozens of multicolored flyers slapped onto the windows, advertising everything from a new brand of soap to a free estimate for breast enhancement surgery. The front door was battered, covered in Sharpie scrawl, and the paint outside was violently purple. _(Violently.)_ It was some horrible kind of cross between fuchsia and violet, and at a first glance, it seared the inside of my eyelids. A group of drunks stumbled outside, one of them bellowing a drinking song.

"Um," I said.

"I don't want to hear it, Chase," Thalia said, stepping outside of the car. I followed, albeit reluctantly. "This is Southern California. Embrace it."

"But-"

She looked me dead in the eye. "Stop being such a priss. Go in, smile, and have a good fucking time, alright?"

I hesitated. "I-"

" _Alright?"_

"Fine," I said.

"Good. Now follow me."

Thalia stalked up to where the bouncer was standing outside the door. There wasn't a line, but it didn't sound _un_ crowded, either. He grinned at her, and his eyes sharpened when he looked at me. "Who's your friend?"

"Your sister, for all you're concerned, Reggie," she barked.

"Aw, I was only _looking_."

She cocked an eyebrow. "You're a terrible liar, Reggie."

"You're a beautiful girl, darling."

"Don't I know it, honey." She sauntered away, and, a little less confidently, I followed.

"Behave yourselves! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Reggie called after us.

The inside was not better. It was, if anything, worse.

The place was packed, a warm, moving sea of people. Bartenders shouted themselves hoarse at the silver-studded bar near the back, and there was far too much of body-rubbing for my general comfort. Pictures of celebrities lined the walls, and again I saw the Sharpie scrawl everywhere: on the walls, the laminate tables, even the cement floor.

"Jesus Christ," I muttered.

Thalia didn't hear me. She scouted around the room for a moment, and then, just as fast, her long nails dug into my skin as her hand closed around my wrist. "Don't let go of me," she yelled, and I managed to nod.

The music was so loud that it shook the ground, and I figured I was probably already well on my way to tinnitus. Of all things, they were playing the Backstreet Boys. This was not how I wanted to go deaf.

A stocky boy bumped into me, his mouth smeared with red. " _Hello."_

" _Dakota!"_ a girl shouted, pulling him back. " _God."_

"Keep on walking," Thalia said, and I did as I was told.

Near the back of the room, far from the bar and the speaker set, the noise and circulation dimmed a bit, though not much. A group of four people were seated at a table: a shrimpy, elf-like boy with curly brown hair and Hispanic coloring; a thin, willowy girl with almond-shaped eyes and caramel-colored hair; a tiny waif of a girl with clunky hipster glasses, flaming red hair, and paint-spattered clothes; a guy with sandy-blond hair and a scar on one cheek.

It was the last guy that caught my attention. The scar might have been off-putting, but it wasn't. He was the kind of handsome that you couldn't help but notice, his hair short-cropped, his eyes bright. I had to force myself to stop staring.

Thalia pulled out a couple of chairs, sat down in one, and gestured for me to sit down in the other. I complied.

"This is Annabeth," she said, introducing me first. I got a round of _hi_ s and waves. "That's Leo," Thalia said, and pointed to Elf Boy. "The girl next to him is Calypso." She pointed to the almond-eyed girl. "The redhead is Rachel, and this is Luke." She planted a large kiss on Scarface's cheek.

"Hey," they all chorused, and I gave a halfhearted wave.

Luke slung his arm around Thalia's shoulder. "So, what brings you to LA, Annabelle?"

 _It's Annabeth._ "Oh, you know. The usual."

I thought this was an evasive answer at best, but across the table, Elf Boy-Leo-was nodding. "Don't I know it," he said. "So are you into the hard-core partying here or what?"

My eyebrows shot up to my hairline. "Um," I said.

I was the opposite of hard-core partier. I was the kind of kid striving for the Ivy League track, the kind riding the straight and narrow in fear. I had never touched a drug in my life, had never even _been_ to a party in my life.

In mind's eye, I could see my father sitting across from me, Maeve beside him. "You know, Annabeth," he said, "life is like a game of chess. You always have to think five steps ahead."

"Five steps ahead?" I echoed.

"You need to know where you're going, and how you're going to do it," he said. "Indecision is for the weak. You're not one of the weak, are you?"

I didn't think so. But then again, I didn't know much about myself anymore. If indecision really was for the weak, then I was weak as fucking hell.

"Annabeth?" Thalia said, prompting me back to reality.

I cleared my throat. "Not really," I told Leo.

"Bummer," he said. "I could hit you up with a couple of good parties coming up if you wanna change your mind."

"I don't think so," I replied. "But thanks anyway."

He shrugged and took a sip of his drink. "Suit yourself."

Almond Eyes (Calypso, I reminded myself) rolled her eyes and slung her arm around Leo's neck. "Leo here could do with a little less partying," she said. "He's turning into _such_ a druggie whore."

I blanched at this statement, but Leo just laughed. "What do you think the 'W' in my middle name stands for?"

"Ignore Leo and Callie," Rachel said, and smiled, sticking out her hand. I shook it. "So where are you from, anyway? Are you a California native like all of us?"

"I am, actually," I said. "I'm from the Bay Area. My dad's a professor at Berkeley."

"Ooh, a smart chick," she said. "I like it. Nice change from _these_ hooligans."

"Thanks," said Thalia sarcastically. Her eyes flicked around. "Hey, where's Jason, anyway?"

Luke snorted. "Where do you think?"

Thalia got a dark look. "He did _not._ "

"Oh, he did," Leo said. "I'm thinking we TP his house later."

"How old are you, five?"

"I don't get it," I said. "Where _is_ Jason?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "With his girlfriend," she said. "He's dating Piper McLean, and they're practically inseparable these days."

My eyes nearly popped out of my head. "Did you just say he was dating Piper McLean?"

"Uh-huh," Thalia said. "And let me tell you: she is _such_ a bitch."

"I don't think she's a bitch," said Luke thoughtfully.

"She stole a BMW last week," argued Calypso. "A fucking Hollywood legacy with about a billion dollars to her name, and she _stole a BMW._ "

"Piper's okay," Leo said. "You just have to get to know her, and get past the whole… 'I'm beautiful and I know it, but I'm also kind of fake about it' thing."

"Right," said Thalia dryly. "She's a real treasure."

I marveled at this new information. Piper McLean was a second-generation Hollywood star, one of those people famous by association before they were famous themselves. Her father, Tristan McLean, was a major blockbuster movie star right off the A-list, and her mother was a world-renowned fashion designer and supermodel. Piper was a supermodel herself, and every time I went into the mall, it seemed like her face was staring at me from behind some perfume ad, one of those classic _sex on the beach_ pin-ups.

"I think a fight's brewing, though," Rachel said, sipping her martini.

"Really?" Thalia said hopefully.

"Uh-huh." Rachel leaned back in her chair. "Apparently she got an offer to be the new Playboy cover girl. It's massive bank, not that she needs it, and it's also kind of a milestone, but apparently Jason doesn't want her to do it."

"Of course he doesn't," Thalia said. "He's not that kind of guy. He doesn't want a bunch of other oversexed teenagers jerking off to a picture of his girlfriend."

"Let's hope it'll be their breaking point," Luke said, raising his glass.

"I'll cheers to that," Thalia said, and glasses clinked around the table.

Luke turned to her. "Actually, I forgot to get you something at the bar. You want me to get you anything?"

"I could probably do a couple of tequila shots," she said, nodding, and her eyes flicked to me. "What about you, Annabeth? Anything to drink?"

I blinked. "I'm underage."

The table laughed. "So am I," Leo said, raising his hand.

"Me, too," Callie said, and around the table, everyone but Luke raised their hands.

"We're all illegally drunk off our asses here," Thalia said. "What'll it be, sugar?"

My cheeks flamed. "I'm okay. Thanks."

"Priss," Thalia said, as Luke rose and shoved his way through the crowd.

Calypso turned to Rachel. "So, Red, how's your lovelife going?"

Her cheeks pinked. She really was adorable, I thought, a little enviously. "Oh. You know." She smiled. "Kind of fantastic, actually."

"I can see why," Calypso said. "Percy's _hot._ "

"Um, excuse me," Leo said. "Right here."

She kissed his nose. "You know I love you."

"Always nice to hear every once in awhile."

Rachel sighed, propping her chin up on her hand. "He's just so… great," she said. "You know? It's kind of rough with him living in Malibu, though."

I furrowed my eyebrows. "What's your boyfriend's name?"

"Percy," she said. "Percy Jackson."

The name rang a vague, familiar bell. "I feel like I know that name," I said. "How…"

"He's a famous surfer," Calypso said. "That might be why. He does a little modeling work on the side too, right, Rach?"

"Mostly swimsuit stuff, for endorsements," she said. "It pays really well."

That was it. Maeve grew up in Hawaii, in Oahu, and she was very into surfing. She used to make us all watch the big competitions before Bobby and Matthew were born, before she officially married Dad. It was one of her 'let's be a family' kicks, and one of the few things about Maeve that I liked. She actually paid for surfing lessons for me for a bit, but then it got too expensive, and Matthew and Bobby took priority. I still did it by myself, though. I'd drive down to Santa Cruz about fifty miles south, or down to Half Moon Bay if the weather was good. I'd streak along the waves and the surf, eyes wide open, _alive._ There was something therapeutic about it, cold, icy water seeping into my skin, but my father had never really supported it.

"Student council, volunteering, anything in the arts," he'd said. "These are things you need to be looking into-even a sane, rational sport. Some crazy, half-assed extreme whatever isn't going to boost your chances of getting into Harvard, Annabeth. Be smarter than that."

After Maeve stopped trying to force a cohesive family unit, I watched the surfing competitions by myself on my laptop. I'd seen Percy Jackson's name pop up quite a few times. He did very well, from what I remembered.

"Yeah," I said. "I surf a little myself."

Rachel raised her eyebrows. "Really? Percy's been trying to get me to give it a shot, but he hasn't managed yet. It still freaks the hell out of me when he does it. Even the pros can go under in a big wave. And that's not even considering the sharks."

"Actually," I said, "sharks aren't all that big of a risk. The statistics are very low."

"The chance of surfers being attacked by a shark is increased three times the amount of a normal swimmer," Rachel said with a derisive laugh.

"Right, but that's still three times from an incredibly low odd," I said. "It's somewhere like one in every twenty-six thousand."

"Wow," Calypso said. "Go, Annabeth."

Rachel gave me a sideways look out of the corner of her eye. "You can try to rationalize an extreme sport all you want, darling," she said, and for some reason, the way she said _darling_ set my teeth on edge.

"And you can bank on statistics with half the information in your back pocket all you want, _honey_ ," I replied, without missing a beat. Rachel's eyes widened, and Leo let out a half laugh/cough.

Luke reappeared at the table. "Five tequila shots for Thalia coming right up."

She cocked an eyebrow high. "Five?"

He grinned and kissed her neck. "You're _very_ fun in bed when you're drunk."

I looked down at my hands, ignoring their innuendos. I'd been too hostile to Rachel, and I knew it. That had always been my problem. I'd never been able to watch my mouth.

But when I raised my head to apologize to her, she was smirking at me. It was a self-satisfied smirk, one of those smiles that screamed _go ahead and try, bitch._ So I reached over, across the table, and grabbed one of Thalia's tequila shots.

She looked surprised. "Really?"

I poured it down my throat. It tasted slightly earthy, spicy, and it burned like hell sluicing down. I coughed, almost choking. "Oh my God," I said hoarsely.

Thalia threw back her head and laughed. "Welcome to the other side, baby," she said, and handed me another shot. "Drink up."

* * *

I WOKE UP with a pounding head and a dry, sick taste in my mouth.

I turned over on the bed and groaned, almost toppling off. I wasn't sleeping on a bed, I realized; I was sleeping on a couch. And I hurt all over, ached down to my bones.

"Morning, sunshine," said a voice above me.

I wrinkled my nose as the bitter, acrid scent of tobacco smoke filled my nostrils. My eyes fluttered open. Thalia sat on the ragtag chair beside me, her legs crossed. She was already dressed, in full makeup, a cigarette in one hand and a coffee cup in the other. She smiled at me.

"I hate you," I said, smashing my face into the pillow.

"I thought you might." There was a scraping noise. "Here you go. It'll make you feel better, I promise."

I lifted my head. A plate with a glass of tomato juice, a bowl of mac and cheese, and not two but three ibuprofen was sitting beside me. I made a face. "Tomato juice? Really?"

"Hangover beggars can't be choosers."

"Touché." I popped the ibuprofen in my mouth and swallowed them down with the tomato juice, plugging my nose as I did so to mask the taste.

Thalia leaned back. "So. You're kind of a lightweight."

"I know. Three shots and I was out."

She crossed her arms. "Was it that thing with Rachel? I really thought that you would like her."

I shook my head. "No, it's not that. I thought that she was kind of fake, is all."

"That's true, I guess." Thalia studied me, and then put out her cigarette in her coffee cup. "So. It was the whole running-away thing, right?"

I nodded and looked down at my hands. "Kind of the culmination."

She folded her hands in her lap. "Ready to tell me?"

I felt nauseous. "I thought you said I had a week."

"You do."

There was a long, prolonged pause. A kind of silence.

I supposed that I could wait. I could hold the days of the week close to my chest as they inevitably slipped through my fingers like water, dripping and pooling at the bottom as the hours became minutes, then seconds.

But some part of me remembered my father's face, remembered Maeve, remembered Bobby and Matthew and everything else, that deadly whirlpool that made me feel sick to my stomach. So much had happened since Thalia left. She'd deserted me, and I'd needed a friend more than ever after she was gone. More than she knew.

Eventually I'd have to fess up. I'd have to go back to Berkeley, I'd have to face my father, I'd have to confront hard truths that would do nothing but cut and slice at tender wounds. But until I did, I wanted to get the most I could out of my brief snatch of freedom. It might be the only one I got.

"Alright," I said tiredly. "I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything."

Thalia smiled. "Good."

"But first," I said, stumbling up, "I'm pretty sure that I've got to get to the toilet, because I'm about to hurl."

* * *

 **A/N: Whoop whoop! Thank-you list time!**

 **Thanks go to:** **lavawaffles,** **OceanCookie,** **AliceTonksHPJ,** **LeapinGoldFish,** **Jwhy,** **Fenikkus94,** **thalukestuff,** **AFineMess101, and** **xTayTayx. You guys all made my day, seriously.**

 **Review and let me know what you thought of this second chapter! Constructive criticism ALWAYS WELCOME. I'm a growing writer and God knows I need it.**

 **~Sayonara! (That's Japanese for goodbye. ~The more you know~.)**


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